The Fault in Our Spiders
by The KFM
Summary: Despite the tumor-shrinking medical miracle that has bought her a few years, Hazel has never been anything but terminal, her final chapter inscribed upon diagnosis. But when a gorgeous plot twist named Peter Parker suddenly appears at Cancer Kid Support Group, Hazel's story is about to be completely rewritten.
1. Chapter 1

1

Hazel

Late in the winter of my seventeenth year, my mother decided I was depressed, presumably because I rarely left the house, spent quite a lot of time in bed, read the same book over and over, ate infrequently, and devoted quite a bit of my abundant free time to think about death.

Whenever you read a cancer booklet or website or whatever, they always list depression among the side effects of cancer. But, in fact, depression is not a side effect of cancer. Depression is a side effect of dying. (Cancer is also a side effect of dying. Almost everything is, really.) But my mom believed I requires treatment, so she took me to see my Regular Doctor Jim, who agreed that I was veritably swimming in a paralyzing and totally clinical depression, and that therefore my meds should be adjusted and also I should attend a weekly support group.

The Support Group, of course, was depressing as hell. It met every Wednesday in the basement of a stone-walled Episcopal church shaped like a cross. We all sat in a circle right in the middle of the cross, where the two boards would have met, where the heart of Jesus would have been.

The only reason I knew this was because Patrick, the support group leader and only person over eighteen in the room, talked about the heart of Jesus at every freaking meeting, all about how we, as young cancer survivors, were sitting right in Christ's very sacred heart and whatever.

So here's how it went in God's heart: we sat in the Circle of Trust and listened to Patrick recount for the thousandth time his depressingly miserable life story—how he had cancer in his balls and they thought he was going to die but he didn't die and now here he is, a full-grown adult in a church basement in the Big Apple, divorced, addicted to video games, mostly friendless, eking out a meager living by exploiting his cancertastic past, slowly working toward a master's degree that will not improve his career prospects, waiting, as we all do, for the sword of Damocles to give him the relief that he escaped lo those many years ago when cancer took both of his nuts but spared what only the most generous soul would call his life.

AND YOU TOO MIGHT BE SO LUCKY!

Then we introduced ourselves: Name. Age. Diagnosis. And how we're doing today. I'm Hazel, I'd say when they'd get to me. Sixteen. Thyroid originally but with an impressive and long -settled satellite colony in my lungs. And I'm doing okay (besides the cancer, that is).

Then began the circle jerk of support: everyone talking about fighting and battling and winning and shrinking and scanning. To be fair to Patrick, he let us talk about dying, too. But most of them weren't dying. Most would live into adulthood, as Patrick had.

There were two redeeming facets of support group. One of which was this kid name Isaac, a long-faced, skinny guy with straight blonde hair swept over one eye.

And his eyes were the problem. He had some fantastically improbable eye cancer. One eye had been cut out when he was a kid, and now he wore the kind of thick glasses that made his eyes (both the real one and the glass one) preternaturally huge, like his whole head was basically just this fake eye and this real eye staring at you. From what I could gather on the rare occasions when Isaac shared with the group, a recurrence had placed his remaining eye in mortal peril.

The other facet was this guy named Augustus "Gus" Waters. He was seventeen, a survivor of osteosarcoma a year and a half ago. In order to save his life, he had his right leg removed from the lower thigh. Now equipped with a prosthetic leg, he comes every Wednesday upon Isaac's request. He was cool, a bit talkative at times, but knew when to keep his mouth shut. Perhaps the reason I liked him was because he was very optimistic and obsessed with metaphors.

Isaac, Augustus, and I communicated almost exclusively through sighs. Each time someone discussed anticancer diets or snorting ground-up shark fin or whatever, one of them would glance over at me and sigh ever so slightly. I'd shake my head microscopically and exhale in response.

* * *

Support group blew, and after a few weeks, I grew to be rather kicking-and-screaming about the whole affair. In fact, on the Wednesday I made the acquaintance of Peter Parker, I tried my level best to get out of support group while sitting on the couch with my mom in the third leg of a twelve-hour marathon of the previous season's _America's Next Top Model_, which, admittedly, I had already seen.

It didn't go so well. I told my mom that I refused to go to the support group and she said that I, being a teenager, need to make friends, get out of the house, and live my life. That I deserved a life.

That shut me up, although I failed to see how attendance at support group met the definition of "life". Still, I agreed to go.

I went to support group for the same reason that I'd once allowed nurses with a mere eighteen months of graduate education to poison me with exotically named chemicals: I wanted to make my parents happy. There is only one thing in the world shitter than biting it from cancer when you're sixteen, and that's having a kid who bites it from cancer.

* * *

Mom pulled into the circular driveway behind the church at 4:56. I pretended to fiddle with my oxygen tank for a second just to kill time.

"Do you want me to carry it in for you?"

"No, it's fine," I said. The cylindrical tank only weighed a few pounds, and I had this little steel cart to wheel it around behind me. The contraption was necessary because my lungs sucked at being lungs.

"I love you." She said as I got out.

"You too, Mom. See you at six."

"Make friends!" she said through the rolled-down window as I walked away.

I didn't want to take the elevator because taking the elevator is a Last Days kind of activity at support group, so I took the stairs. I grabbed a cookie and poured some lemonade into a Dixie cup and then turned around.

I bumped into a boy standing behind me and dropped my cookie. In a flash, he caught it midair and held it out to me. "Sorry." he said.

I was quite sure I had never seen him before. He was a few inches taller than me, thin, but clearly had some muscles to show from his slightly loose T-shirt. Light brown hair, straight and medium. He looked slightly older, and his face turned an interesting shade of red as he held the cookie out to me. I grabbed it.

"Sorry about that." He said again.

"It's… it's okay." I replied. I suddenly felt conscious of my myriad insufficiencies. I was wearing old jeans, which had once been tight but now sagged in weird places, and a yellow T-shirt advertising a band I didn't even like anymore. Also my hair: I had this pageboy haircut, and I hadn't even bothered to, like, brush it. Furthermore, I had ridiculously fat chipmunked cheeks, a side effect of treatment. I looked like a normally proportioned person with a balloon for a head. This was not even to mention the cankle situation. And yet, his eyes were still on me even though he was clearly uncomfortable from what just happened.

It occurred to me why they call it eye _contact_.

"Excuse me." I said to him after we were standing in silence a bit too long. He moved to the side as I went to the Circle of Trust and sat in my usual seat. Isaac was already sitting in his on my right and so was Gus on my left. I looked back at the snack table and saw the new guy turn around holding a cookie and a Dixie cup and sat next to Gus. Before he sat down, he glanced at me, we held for a few moments then I turned my attention to the "literal heart of Jesus" on the ground.

Look, let me just say it: He was hot. Sure, he seemed a bit awkward, but that only added to it. A nonhot boy stares at you and it is, at best, awkward and, at worst, a form of assault. But a hot boy… well.

I pulled out my phone and clicked it so it would display the time: 4:59. The circle filled in with the unlucky twelve-to-eighteens, and then Patrick started us out with the serenity prayer: _God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference._ I caught the guy staring at me. I felt rather blushy.

Finally, I decided that the proper strategy was to stare back. Boys do not have a monopoly in the Staring Business, after all. So I looked him over as Patrick acknowledged for the thousandth time his ball-lessness, and soon it was a staring contest. After a while the boy smiled, and then finally his brown eyes glanced away sheepishly. When he looked back at me, I flicked my eyebrows up to say, _I_ _win._

He shrugged. Patrick continued and then it was finally time for introductions. "Isaac, perhaps you'd like to go first today. I know you're facing a challenging time."

"Yeah," Isaac said. "I'm Isaac. I'm seventeen. And it's looking like I have to get surgery in a couple weeks, after which I'll be blind. Not to complain or anything because I know a lot of us have it worse, but yeah, I mean, being blind does sort of suck. My girlfriend helps, though. And friends like Augustus and Peter." He nodded to Gus and the boy, who now had a name. "So, yeah," Isaac continued. He was looking at his hands, which he'd folded into each other like the top of a tepee. "There's nothing you can do about it."

"We're here for you Isaac." Patrick said. "Let Isaac hear it guys." And then we all, in a monotone, said, "We're here for you, Isaac."

Next was a twelve year old named Michael. He had leukemia. He'd always had leukemia. He was okay. (Or so he said. He'd taken the elevator.)

Then it was Lida. Sixteen. Currently in a long remission from appendiceal cancer, which I had not previously known existed. She felt _strong_, which felt like bragging to me as the oxygen-drizzling nubs tickled my nostrils.

There were four other before they got to him. His face turned a bit red and he fidgeted with his hands. "Hi, I'm Peter Parker. I'm seventeen, and I am a walking miracle. I got some form of cancer a year ago, I can't remember what kind, but it was only for two days. After that, I've never felt better in my life."

There was a quiet murmur in the circle. It was silenced by Patrick's question. "So, Peter, what brought you here today?"

"Oh, um, my friend Augustus invited me and I decided to give it a shot. I mean, I'm not depressed or anything. I've got good grades and a job. But, technically, I am a cancer survivor, and I basically owe Gus anything he asks of me." He let out a small laugh as he patted Gus on the shoulder.

It was now Gus's turn. "My name is Augustus Waters," he said. "I'm seventeen. I had a touch of osteosarcoma a year and a half ago."

"And how are you feeling?" Patrick asked.

"Oh, I'm grand." Augustus said with his usual smile. "I'm on a roller coaster that only goes up, my friend."

When it was my turn, I said, "My name is Hazel. I'm sixteen. Thyroid with mets in my lungs. I'm okay."

The hour proceeded apace: Fights were recounted, battles won amid wars sure to be lost; hope was clung to; families were both celebrated and denounced; it was agreed that friends just didn't get it; tears were shed; comfort proffered. Neither Peter Parker nor I spoke again until Patrick said, "Peter, perhaps you'd like to share your fears with the group."

"I'm sorry, my fears?"

"Yes."

"Um, well, I fear a lot of things." He was silent for a moment, looking at the heart of Jesus on the ground. "I guess, if I had to pick just one fear, it'd be that I, a healthy young lad, wouldn't be able to save someone from pain or death, both literal and figurative."

"He fears it like the proverbial blind man who's afraid of the dark." Gus added.

"Too soon." Isaac said, cracking a smile.

"Was that insensitive?" Gus said with a wide smile. "I can be pretty blind to other people's feelings."

Peter pointed his thumb at Gus. "Now you guys know what I have to deal with."

Everyone laughed, including me. Not something that usually happens here.

Once the laughter died down, Patrick said, "Okay, Peter. Let's return to _you_ and _your _struggles. You said you fear being useless when someone needs help?"

"Yeah, basically." He said.

Patrick seemed a bit lost. "Would, uh, would anyone like to speak to that?"

I hadn't been in proper school in three years. My parents were my two best friends. My third best friend was an author who did not know I existed. I was a fairly shy person—not the hand-raising type.

And yet, just this once, I decided to speak. I half raised my hand and Patrick, his delight evident, immediately said, "Hazel!" I was, I'm sure he assumed, opening up. Becoming Part of the Group.

I looked over at Peter Parker, who looked back at me. You could tell he was a bit nervous, but his dark brown eyes were steady. "There will come a time," I said, "when all of us are dead. All of us. There will come a time when there are no human beings remaining to remember that anyone ever existed or that our species ever did anything. No matter how many people you try to save, no one is going to remember it forever, because the world is getting closer and closer to its inevitable oblivion. If your fear is that you may not be able to accomplish what you want before it is too late, I encourage you to ignore it. God knows that's what everyone else should do."

I'd learn this from my aforementioned third best friend, Peter Van Houten, the reclusive author of _An Imperial Affliction_, the book that was as close a thing as I had to a Bible. Peter Van Houten was the only person I'd ever come across who seemed to (a) understand what it's like to be dying, and (b) not have died.

After I finished, there was quite a long period of silence as I watched Peter stare at me in stunned silence. I noticed a smile form on Gus's face. "Hazel, I think he's speechless." he said.

But it turned out he wasn't, for he responded to my long speech. "Wow, Hazel, that was something else."

* * *

Neither of us said anything for the rest of support group, and after it was over, I headed outside after saying a quick goodbye to Gus and Isaac. I was about to open the door to outside when I heard a voice calling my name. I turned around, and Peter was jogging up to me.

"Hey." He said.

"Hi." I suddenly felt like I was having a hard time breathing, but it was more with my emotions than my physical status.

"So, about what you said back there, about everything we do being useless in the end, I just want to say that I have to disagree with you."

"Oh, really?" I urged him to go on.

"Um, yeah." He continued. "You see, I know that eventually the world is going to end and the history of mankind will be unknown afterwards, but I like to focus on the now. You see, I believe that we've got one life to live, so we should make the most of it."

I've heard this argument from some adults before, but never a peer. "Well, no offense or anything, but that sounded rather corny."

"Yeah." He looked down and kind of scratched his head. He looked back up at me again. "I mean, it sounds great in my head, but when I say it out loud it sounds like I'm preaching YOLO swag."

I bursted out laughing, and so did he. Afterwards, we talked some more. It turned out he was a really funny guy, but also quite mature. He worked as a freelance photographer, revealing to me that he was the guy who took the front page photos of Spider-Man on the Daily Bugle. He knew Gus since they were little, considering Gus's parents were rich scientists and Peter had humble beginnings.

My mom pulled up to the church when Peter made a joke about my nubbings that made me laugh so hard it hurt.

"Well, it looks like my ride is here."

"Yeah." he looked over at the car and my mom rolled down the window. Peter whispered me something so fast I almost missed it. "What's your last name?"

"Lancaster."

"Got it." He focused on the my mom in the driver's seat. "Hi, Mrs. Lancaster!"

"Hello." She responded.

I took it that it was my turn to speak. "Mom, I made a new friend. This is Peter Parker. He's the guy that takes the pictures of Spider-Man for the Daily Bugle."

"Oh, a photographer! And for Spider-Man no less!"

Peter's face turned a bit red as he politely smiled back. Just then, the sound of police sirens passed by the church. Peter looked out at them then turned to me. "Hey, um, I've got to go check on Gus because I've got to give him a ride home. But, um, maybe we can meet up sometime?"

I smiled. I didn't know why, but I really liked Peter. "Yeah, that'd great."

"Alright, cool. Um, yeah." He pulled out a pen and grabbed my right hand. He then proceeded to write a phone number on it. "So, yeah, that's my number. Text me when you want to get together or something."

"Yeah, will do."

Then he ran into the church. I didn't know at the time why he was in such a rush to leave me there when we were getting along so well.


	2. Chapter 2

2

Peter

I knew Augustus was up to something, but, against my better judgement, I inclined on giving him a ride to the mall. At least, he told me it was the mall. As it turned out, he got me to pull into the parking lot of the church that he had his support group at.

"Gus, you said we were going to the mall."

"Yeah, well, I lied." He started to unbuckle his seat belt just as I turned off the car. This wasn't the first time he tricked me into going somewhere else entirely, and it probably wouldn't be the last. And, most of the time, it's because he'd been trying to hook me up with a girl. "Besides," he continued, "there's a hot chick in there you might like."

"That what you said about the last four girls." They didn't go so well. In fact, I didn't even like them from the get go.

Gus just laughed. "Trust, this time it's different. She's smart, pretty, and definitely an outcast."

"Are you sure you're not describing yourself?"

"Yeah, hilarious."

We got out of the car and headed into the church. I looked at everyone we passed by, none of them seemed to be the "hot chick" Augustus had mentioned. We went downstairs and met Isaac. "Hey, you brought Peter with you!"

Gus gave him a high-five. "Yup! I think it's time for Peter to embrace the fact that he's a cancer survivor, just like us! He even agreed with me!"

"Actually, Isaac, Gus tricked me."

"Yeah," he said, giving Gus a look, "sounds like him. But, hey, haven't seen you in a while, if we can call two weeks a 'while'. How've you been?"

"Well, you know, cracking down on studying while balancing a job. I've been taking dual-credit classes at the community college alongside the usual high school stuff, so there's that too."

"And he's looking for a lady." Gus added. "Specifically a certain someone we know." He winked at Isaac.

He seemed to know who Gus was talking about. "Oh, yeah. You'll love her, Pete."

"Yeah, we'll see about that."

When we reached the basement, Gus pointed to a girl at a table with cookies and lemonade. "Look, there she is!"

From the back, she seemed fine. Pageboy cut, oxygen tank, yellow T-shirt, oxygen tank, thin, oxygen tank. Look, the oxygen tank was a little off-putting.

"Go!" Whispered Gus as he shoved me in her direction.

I sighed. I decided to get this done and over with to prove once and for all that Augustus Waters was the worst person in the world for relationship advice. I went up behind the girl, acting like that I, too, wanted in on the cookie and lemonade action, when suddenly she turned around and bumped into me. Her cookie dropped, but I caught it with my unnaturally fast reflexes. If I didn't have my speed, the cookie would've been a goner.

"Sorry." I said. I held up the cookie to her and when I saw her face, it was a wonder I was still standing and breathing. Her head may have looked slightly swollen due to treatment, but her features were striking and her hazel eyes were piercing. She grabbed the cookie from my hand.

"Sorry about that." I said again. Oh, God, I probably sounded like an idiot repeating myself.

"It's… it's okay." Then began the staring. It only lasted, like, three seconds, but it felt like the longest three seconds of my life as our eyes clung to each other. Nothing else around me seemed to matter anymore, not even the oxygen tank or cannula. Just her.

"Excuse me." She said after we stared at each other a bit longer than necessary. I moved out of her way and I felt my face growing really red. She went and sat down in the circle of chairs between Gus and Isaac, and, to look casual, I took a cookie and a Dixie cup of lemonade and took the seat next to Gus.

* * *

Alright, there were two things wrong with this Cancer Kid Support Group. One, it's depressing as hell. Like, no one had a joke to tell or even tried to liven things up. Gus and Isaac explained it to me as the most depressing thing they've ever encountered because of their cancer. I think they were sugarcoating it. Two, the lemonade tasted awful. Just… just awful.

However, the girl I bumped into made it better. The support group started off with the leader, Patrick, giving a prayer. She caught me staring at her and I could feel the blood rushing to my face. Plus, this time, she didn't turn away. I figured it became a staring contest now. And, as Patrick mentioned something about being ball-less, it got to the point where I felt too embarrassed to keep it up and I looked away.

I glanced back at her, and she was still looking at me. She flicked her eyebrows up. _I win._

I shrugged my shoulders and made a smile. _So what?_

God, she was sexy.

Then came the introductions. Isaac went first, which meant the event could've unfolded two ways. One, the girl was next, or two, the girl would be last. And, as Parker luck would have it, when Isaac finished talking about his eye cancer and the surgery that would make him blind forever, the introductions went counter-clockwise, away from the girl.

I tried to pay attention to everyone else. Michael was twelve with leukemia. That had to suck. Lida had some kind of cancer in her appendix, but she claimed to be strong. Four more people went, and then it was my turn. I guessed the girl would know my name before I knew the name of this hazel-eyed femme fatale.

"Hi," I started, nervous as a wreck and fidgeting with my hands, "I'm Peter Parker. I'm seventeen, and I am a walking miracle. I got some form of cancer a year ago, I can't remember what kind, but it was only for two days. After that, I've never felt better in my life."

There was a quiet murmur in the circle. A kid who only had cancer for two days? How is that possible? Well, you see, I was on a field trip with my friend Gus at his parents' science facility, WatersCorp. They had a new machine that would take the study of radiology to the next level. Cool, right? Anyways, a spider felt the need to drop in on the experiment, became radiated, crawled on my hand, and bit me. The bite transferred radiation, and radiation plus living organisms equals cancer. However, I was only sick for two days, and, according to my internet research, I had a bad case of leukemia and would most certainly die (although, I'm sure the internet would tell me that I would most certainly die from the common cold). My aunt and uncle were freaking out about the fact that I might die, but after the second day, well, I was way more than healthy.

The murmuring was silenced by Patrick's question. "So, Peter, what brought you here today?"

"Oh, um, my friend Augustus invited me and I decided to give it a shot. I mean, I'm not depressed or anything. I've got good grades and a job. But, technically, I am a cancer survivor, and I basically owe Gus anything he asks of me." I let out a small laugh and I patted Gus on the shoulder. Good ol' Gus, helped me with the bullies in school and also the part-time dictator of my love life.

It was now Gus's turn. "My name is Augustus Waters," he said. "I'm seventeen. I had a touch of osteosarcoma a year and a half ago."

"And how are you feeling?" Patrick asked.

"Oh, I'm grand." Augustus said with his usual smile. "I'm on a roller coaster that only goes up, my friend." _Suck-up._

Then it was her turn. "My name is Hazel." She started. "I'm sixteen. Thyroid with mets in my lungs. I'm okay."

_Hazel._

* * *

Before I knew it, we were talking about something else entirely. "Peter," started Sir Ball-less, "perhaps you'd like to share your fears with the group."

"I'm sorry, my fears?" I tried to think of an answer. Something that sounded the least bit legit.

"Yes."

"Um, well, I fear a lot of things." I was silent for a moment. I thought about the nightmare I experienced almost a year ago: the death of of my Uncle Ben. "I guess, if I had to pick just one fear, it'd be that I, a healthy young lad, wouldn't be able to save someone from pain or death, both literal and figurative."

"He fears it like the proverbial blind man who's afraid of the dark." Gus added.

"Too soon." Isaac said, cracking a smile.

"Was that insensitive?" Gus said with a wide smile. "I can be pretty blind to other people's feelings."

I pointed my thumb at Gus. "Now you guys know what I have to deal with."

Everyone laughed at that, Including Hazel. I was glad I could lighten the tone around here.

Once the laughter died down, Patrick said, "Okay, Peter. Let's return to _you_ and _your _struggles. You said you fear being useless when someone needs help?"

"Yeah, basically."

He seemed a bit lost. "Would, uh, would anyone like to speak to that?"

I looked around the room only to find not a single person raising their hand. Until, suddenly—

"Hazel!" Patrick beamed at her with excitement.

She looked over at me, her eyes meeting mine in front of an entire audience. "There will come a time," she said, "when all of us are dead. All of us. There will come a time when there are no human beings remaining to remember that anyone ever existed or that our species ever did anything. No matter how many people you try to save, no one is going to remember it forever, because the world is getting closer and closer to its inevitable oblivion. If your fear is that you may not be able to accomplish what you want before it is too late, I encourage you to ignore it. God knows that's what everyone else should do."

I was shocked for a moment for the big speech she gave me. It was almost as if she wrote it down just for this moment. And, it seemed, that my silence was a wee bit too long because Gus suddenly jumped in.

"Hazel, I think he's speechless!"

And I was. The only thing I could think to say was, "Wow, Hazel, that was something else."

* * *

After the support group ended, Hazel slowly went to the stairs and left my line of sight.

"So, Peter," said Gus as he put an arm around my shoulder. "What do think?"

I turned to him. "When you told me that this was dead and depressing, I was expecting something livelier than this."

"Yeah, well, life sucks when you've got an expiration date. But, that's not what I'm talking about."

"Really?" I faked a shocked expression. "Then... That could only mean…"

"Okay, Peter, be honest. What are your thoughts on Hazel?"

"Only the most beautiful girl I've ever met both in looks and mind. You would think the oxygen tank would bog down the ratings, but this is an exception."

"Sure is, man. Sure is. Now, I'm going to go see if Isaac could give me a ride home while you go talk some more with Hazel, maybe invite her over to your house and watch a movie or something?"

I gave him a quizzical look. "Dude, do you think relationships work that fast? That I can just invite her over to my house the hour I just met her? I could be an ax murder for all she knows."

"That's always a possibility. And yes, relationships should be done as fast as possible."

"Oh, so you're saying that your relationship advice is golden?"

"To the core."

"That's rich coming from a one-legged virgin."

He laughed. "Wow, that… That hurt deep."

"Sorry, I could be pretty blind to other people's feelings."

And, with that, I turned and ran up the stairs three at a time. When I reached the top, I could see Hazel about to leave through the front door. "Hazel!"

She turned around and I ran to her, trying to figure out what in the world I was going to say. So, when I reached her, I started out with the casual "Hey."

"Hi." She said. It seemed like she was having a hard time breathing, so I tried to make the conversation fast in case she was in a rush to refill her oxygen tank or something.

"So," I started, "about what you said back there, about everything we do being useless in the end, I just want to say that I have to disagree with you."

"Oh, really?"

"Um, yeah. You see, I know that eventually the world is going to end and the history of mankind will be unknown afterwards, but I like to focus on the now. You see, I believe that we've got one life to live, so we should make the most of it." And I believe that.

She gave me a strange look. "Well, no offense or anything, but that sounded rather corny."

"Yeah." I looked down and scratched my head. I looked back at her eyes again. "I mean, it sounds great in my head, but when I say it out loud it sounds like I'm preaching YOLO swag." And I believe that too.

She bursted out laughing, and it made me laugh. After that, we talked some more. I told her a bit about myself like that fact the I worked as a freelance photographer, revealed that I was the guy who took the front page photos of Spider-Man on the Daily Bugle. I also told her that I knew Gus since we were little, considering Gus's parents were rich scientists and I lived in the lower end of middle-class.

"So," I said, "about your oxygen tank."

"Oh, yeah, well, I need it. I had thyroid in my lungs and now I suck at breathing."

"So that explains the cannula."

"Yup."

Silence. "I think cannulas are sexy."

That line is a hit or miss, more likely to be the latter. However, Hazel found it quite hilarious and bursted out in laughter so hard I was almost worried her lungs wouldn't be able to handle it. She did, and it occurred to me that she may be the strongest girl I know. That's when her mom pulled up.

"Well, it looks like my ride is here." Said Hazel.

"Yeah." I looked over at the car and her mom rolled down the window. I realized I forgot to ask a very important question, so I whispered to Hazel real fast: "What's your last name?"

"Lancaster."

"Got it." I focused on the her mom. "Hi, Mrs. Lancaster!" After saying that out loud, I wondered if Hazel was somehow related to the police captain.

"Hello." She responded.

Hazel continued to conversation. "Mom, I made a new friend. This is Peter Parker. He's the guy that takes the pictures of Spider-Man for the Daily Bugle."

"Oh, a photographer! And for Spider-Man no less!"

I felt my face turn red and politely smiled back. Just then, I heard police sirens pass by the church. I looked out at them as they sped by then turned back to Hazel. "Hey, um, I've got to go check on Gus because I've got to give him a ride home. But, um, maybe we can meet up sometime?"

She smiled. "Yeah, that'd great."

"Alright, cool. Um, yeah." I pulled out my pen and grabbed her right hand. I grabbed her hand and quickly wrote down my number. "So, yeah, that's my number. Text me when you want to get together or something."

"Yeah, will do."

Then I ran back into the church, went out the back, then climbed to the roof.

* * *

Okay, I think I have to say something to you guys so that my story about me and Hazel makes a bit more sense. Remember when I said that I had cancer from a radioactive spider bite for only two days? Well, after those two days, I became, well, I became Spider-Man.

Unbelievable, right? I've got super strength, I'm super flexible, I've got a sixth sense that warns me of danger, and, to add the red-and-blue underwear I made called a costume, I made mechanical gizmos that shoot artificial webbing I created.

And that's why I climbed onto the roof of the church: To change into my costume and see what the cops were up to. Once I put my mask on, I ran off the edge of the roof and onto one of the passing S.W.A.T. trucks. If they had to bring those guys in, I'm sure I could lend a hand somehow.

It turns out the destruction was only a few miles away from the church, in a residential area. Once the truck stopped, I jumped off and landed next to Captain Lancaster, who was in the middle of briefing some of the cops that just came in. "What's the scoop, Captain?"

"Spider-Man, I'm glad you're here. I actually just started." He briefed us, including me, of the situation. In one of the houses, some guy named Herman Schultz is keeping a family hostage in the kitchen. Water is all over the floor of the room he is in and he is holding a live electrical wire, demanding big bucks, or else he'll drop the wire, killing everyone in the room including him.

"Have you tried cutting the power?" I asked after the briefing was complete.

"Yeah, but he's using a car battery in there, according to our sniper."

"And you can't shoot him, because the wire will fall and kill the family."

"Unfortunately." He looked over at the house. "Spider-Man, if you can stop this guy, the city owes you a great deal more than it does already."

"I'll do my best, Captain." I adjusted my mask. It was getting stuffy. It was the beginning of the muggy season. "How long do I have?"

"Fifteen minutes. Then we have no other choice but to shoot."

"Alright. Fifteen minutes. Kitchen. Live wire. Don't worry. I've got this."

"God help you, Spider-Man."

* * *

I decided it would be easier to sneak in from one of the windows upstairs. After I got in, I clung to the ceiling and headed into the kitchen. The tile floor was soaking wet, the family, a mother, a father, a teenage daughter, and a young son, were bound together and gagged in the center of the kitchen. Herman Schultz was walking around the room, car battery in one hand and live wire in the other.

I kept myself hidden until he turned around, facing away from the entrance I was hanging upside down from. I crawled in, quiet as possible. The boy looked up at me. I saw something in his eyes: Hope. I put a finger to my masked lips, telling him to be silent. He calmed down, and I mentally thanked him for not making a sound the entire time.

Closer. Closer.

I had to get close to Herman. I planned on shooting a strand of web at the wire and the battery simultaneously, webbing it to the ceiling to avoid the water, then take him down. But, I only had one chance. I can't afford to mess up. One slip, and everyone dies. No one dies on my watch. Not anymore.

I was now two feet away, then the voice of Captain Lancaster carried through the house, sounding like it came from a bullhorn. "Alright, Shchultz! You're giving us no choice! We're wiring the money now!"

"Perfect…"

He sounded… intimidating. I was now right on top of him and it was now or never.

_THWIP THWIP_

It was a bulls-eye for both shots. I yanked the battery and the wire out of his hands, then shot a web net to attach them to the ceiling. I then jumped down to stand up to him face to face.

"What the?!"

"It's over, Herman!"

_THWIP_

I attached his left arm to a nearby counter. His reflexes were fast though, because with his right hand he pulled out a taser.

"Whoa there, shocker! Ever heard of an actual gun? Believe it or not, it does more damage than a taser!" I shot a web at it, covering the hand. I then shot another strand to attach it to the ceiling. "Alright now, don't tell me, you've mastered the art of hiding a taser with your shoe and operating it with your toes, right?"

He looked at me, puzzled. "What the hell are you talking about?!"

"Oh come on, man, it's a joke! You see, first it was the battery, then the taser, then another taser, right? Look, now it's not that funny that I had to go and explain it."

"Look, I don't know why you think you're funny, 'cause you're not you son of a bi-"

_THWIP_

"Watch your mouth, man. There's a kid here."

And with that, I left the web-mouthed man stuck there and freed the family. I followed the women and children first routine, and when I ungagged the father, he said something that made my day infinitely better. "Thank you, Spider-Man."

"No problem, citizen!"

After they were free, I headed out the front door, pressed the remote button on my belt, heard the camera click from a tree in the distance, and swung away to collect my camera and head back to the church.

* * *

I changed on the roof and climbed down the side of the building. I had to get my car or my Aunt May would worry about it being stolen. I was walking by the front door of the church when I heard someone say "Peter!"

I turned around, and sitting by the front door of the church was none other than Augustus Waters. "Gus?"

"Where've you been, Peter? Showing Hazel some tricks up your sleeves, if you know what I mean?"

"Hilarious. What are you doing here? I thought you were going to ride with Isaac."

"Yeah, well, I went out to find Isaac making out with his girlfriend, Monica, at his car saying 'always' repeatedly. I was almost tempted to interrupt them and ask him for the ride, but I felt like that was out of proportion when Isaac moved to the boob-grabbing stage."

"Well, sorry to hear that. And sorry for making you wait out here for an hour. Couldn't you have called a limo or something?"

He pulled out his phone. "Dead."

"I'm pretty sure the church has a phone available."

He stood up and pulled at the door. "Locked."

I thought churches always left their doors unlocked, probably only the entrance to the sanctuary. "Look, I'll give you a ride."

"Thanks, man."

We got into the car and I started it. Then he popped the question. "So, where _were_ you the last hour?"

"Oh, um, I walked Hazel home. Then I realized that I left my car here and so I ran back."

He looked skeptical about my answer, but he relaxed back in his seat. "Whatever you say, Peter. Whatever you say."


	3. Chapter 3

3

Hazel

On the drive home, I read the number Peter wrote on my hand repeatedly until I knew it by heart. Questions and emotions were fluttering through me. Did he really like me? Did I like him? I guessed I did, but this was just a judgement on his first impression. I looked out the window and wondered if he was that funny and mature outside of a support group and flirting with girls.

My mom decided to break the silence. "He seems nice."

"Yeah," I let out a sigh, "He does."

I looked back at the number on my hand and pulled out my phone.

"Whoa, whoa, Hazel. What are you doing?"

"Texting Peter?"

"Hazel, I know you've never been in a relationship before, but don't you know the contact rules?"

"What?"

"Wait until tomorrow to text him. Just be patient."

I typed the number into my phone and saved it. Then I put the phone in my pocket.

* * *

The next day, Thursday, it took everything I had to wait. The morning went something like this: I woke up and had my mom unhook me from my large, rectangular oxygen concentrator I call Philip (because it kind of just looked like a Philip), found out it was my thirty-third half birthday (my mom has a tendency to celebrate to the max), and decided to spend it at the mall with my best friend Kaitlyn.

I texted Kaitlyn, took a shower, got dressed, and then mom drove me to school, Bronx Community College. My class was American Literature, a lecture about Frederick Douglass in a mostly empty auditorium, and it was incredibly difficult to stay awake. Forty minutes into the ninety-minute class, Kaitlyn texted back.

Awesomesauce. Happy Half Birthday. Manhattan at 3:32?

Kaitlyn had the kind of packed social life that needs to be scheduled down to the minute, I responded:

Sounds good. I'll be at the food court.

* * *

Mom drove me directly from school to the bookstore attached to the mall. I didn't find anything of interest and worked my way into the huge food court and bought a Diet Coke. It was 3:21

Mom was also in the food court, alone, sitting in a corner she thought I couldn't see her, eating a cheesesteak sandwich and reading through some papers. Medical stuff, probably. The paperwork was endless.

At 3:32 precisely, I noticed Kaitlyn striding confidently past the Wok House. She saw me the moment I raised my hand, flashed her very white and newly straightened teeth at me, and headed over.

She wore a knee-length charcoal coat that fit perfectly and sunglasses that dominated her face. She pushed them up onto the top of her head as she leaned down to hug me.

"Darling," she said, vaguely British. "How _are_ you?" People didn't find the accent odd or off-putting. Kaitlyn just happened to be an extremely sophisticated twenty-five-year-old British socialite stuck inside a sixteen-year-old body in New York City. Everyone accepted it.

"I'm good. How are you?"

"I don't even know anymore. Is that diet?" I nodded and handed it to her. She sipped through the straw. "I do wish you were at school these days. Some of the boys have become downright _edible_."

"Oh, yeah? Like who?" I asked. She proceeded to name five guys we'd attended elementary and middle school with, but I couldn't picture any of them.

"I've been dating Flash Thompson for a bit," she said, "but I don't think it will last. He's such a _boy_. But enough about me. What is new in the Hazelverse?"

"Nothing, really," I said.

"Health is good?"

"The same, I guess?"

"Phalanxifor!" She enthused, smiling. "So you could just live forever, right?"

"Probably not forever." I said.

"But basically," she said. "What else is new?"

I thought of telling her that I was seeing a boy, too, or at least I might be, just because I knew it would surprise and amaze her that anyone as disheveled and awkward and stunted as me could even briefly win the affections of a boy. But I didn't really have much to brag about, so I just shrugged.

"Shall we shop?" She asked.

* * *

We went to this shoe store. As we were shopping, Kaitlyn kept picking out all these open-toed flats for me and saying, "These would look cute on _you_," which reminded me that Kaitlyn never wore open-toed shoes on account of how she hated her feet because she felt her second toes were too long. as if the second toe was the window to the soul or something. So when I pointed out a pair of sandals that would suit her skin tone, she was like, "Yeah, but…" the but being _but they will expose my hideous second toes to the public_, and I said, "Kaitlyn, you're the only person I've ever known to have toe-specific dysmorphia," and she said, "What is that?"

"You know, like when you look in a mirror and the thing you see is not the thing as it really is?"

"Oh. Oh," she said. "Do you like these?" She held up a pair of cute but unspectacular Mary-Jane Watsons, and I nodded, and she found her size and tried them on, pacing up and down the aisle, watching her feet in the knee-high angled mirrors. Then she grabbed a pair of strappy hooker shoes and said, "Is it even possible to walk in these? I mean, I would just _die_―" and then stopped short, looking at me as if to say _I'm sorry_, as if it were a crime to mention death to the dying. "You should try them on," Kaitlyn continued, trying to paper over the awkwardness.

"I'd sooner die." I assured her.

I ended up just picking out some flip-flops so that I could have something to buy, and then I sat down on one of the benches opposite a bank of shoes and watched Kaitlyn snake her way through the aisles, shopping with the kind of intensity and focus that one usually associates with professional chess. I kind of wanted to take out my phone right then and there and text Peter, but I knew that'd be rude, so I just watched Kaitlyn. Occasionally she'd circle back to me clutching some closed-toe prey and say, "This?" and I would try to make an intelligent comment about the shoe, and then finally she bought three pairs and I bought my flip-flops and then as we exited she said, "Anthropologie?"

"I should head home actually," I said." I'm kinda tired."

"Sure, of course," she said. "I have to see you more often, darling." She placed her hands on my shoulders, kissed me on both cheeks, and marched off, her narrow hips swishing.

I didn't go home, though. I'd told Mom to pick me up at five, and while I figured she was either in the mall or in the parking lot, I still wanted the next hour to myself.

I liked my mom, but her perpetual nearness sometimes made me feel weirdly nervous. And I liked Kaitlyn, too. I really did. But three years removed from proper full-time schoolic exposure to my peers, I felt a certain unbridgeable distance between us. I think that my school friends wanted to help me through my cancer, but they eventually found out that they couldn't. For one thing, there was no _through_.

So I excused myself on the grounds of pain and fatigue, as I often had over the years when seeing Kaitlyn or any other of my friends. In truth, it always hurt. It always hurt not to breathe like a normal person, incessantly reminding your lungs to be lungs, forcing yourself to accept as unsolvable as the clawing scraping inside-out ache of underoxygentation. So I wasn't lying, exactly. I was just choosing among truths.

I found a bench between an Irish Gifts store and a baseball-cap outlet, a corner in the mall even Kaitlyn would never shop, and pulled out my phone.

I turned it on, selected Peter's number, and composed a message.

Hi, Peter, it's Hazel. Want to meet up at the mall before 6?

And then I waited.

* * *

An hour passed. I looked at the top on my phone screen to be sure as I read my electronic version of _An Imperial Affliction_ on it. All this time and Peter still hadn't texted me back.

I sighed, put my phone in my pocket, and adjusted my nubbins. So much for a chance to be with a boy. He's probably just like other guys, leading girls on and then ignoring them forever.

I was just about ready to head out to my mom when this little girl with barretted braids appeared in front of me and said, "What's in your nose?"

And I said, "Um, it's called a cannula. These tubes give me oxygen and help me breathe." Her mother swooped in and said, "Jackie," disapprovingly, but I said, "No, no, it's okay," because it totally was, and then Jackie asked, "Would they help me breathe, too?"

"I dunno. Let's try." I took it off and let Jacki stick the cannula in her nose and breathe. "Tickles." She said.

"I know, right?"

"I think I'm breathing better."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She replied.

"Well," I said, "I wish I could give you my cannula but I kind of really need the help." I already felt the loss. I focused on my breathing as Jackie handed the tubes back to me. I gave them a quick swipe with my T-shirt, laced the tubes behind my ears, and put the nubbins back in place.

"Thanks for letting me try it." She said.

"No problem."

"Jackie." her mother said again, and this time I let her go.

I pulled out my phone again. Still no text from Peter. I put it back and set out to find my mom, but I kept thinking about that little kid, and how much I liked her.

One thing about Kaitlyn, I guess, was that it could never again feel natural to talk to her. Any attempts to feign normal social interactions were just depressing because it was so glaringly obvious that everyone I spoke to the rest of my life would feel awkward and self-conscious around me, except maybe kids like Jackie who just didn't know any better.

* * *

I went to bed early that night, changing into boy boxers and a T-shirt before crawling under the covers of my bed, which was a queen size and pillow topped and one of my favorite places in the world. Before going to sleep, I checked my phone one more time.

Still no message, or anything, from Peter.


	4. Chapter 4

4

Peter

I woke up Thursday morning and the first thing I did was check my phone. No message from Hazel, but that was fine. Maybe she wants to wait until later on in the day to talk.

I got up out of bed, got ready for school, then checked my email real quick. J. Jonah Jameson, the chief editor of the Daily Bugle, replied to the photos I sent him on Wednesday night of the shocker fiasco.

_Dear Peter,_

_ These photos aren't perfect, but will suffice. Unfortunately, we have no room to put them in the paper until the Friday morning edition, but you will be able to get your paycheck today from Betty._

_ Oh, I can see the headlines now. "Spider-Man Holds Family Hostage with His Partner!"_

_-JJJ_

I let out a sigh after reading the last paragraph. Jameson has been trying to make Spider-Man look bad ever since I put on that costume. He's set on believing that he (or I? We? Not sure) is a supervillain just trying to make himself (Myself?) look like a hero. Thank goodness more than half of NYC thinks otherwise.

* * *

I had a hard time focusing on classes today, but I'm glad I read my textbooks in my freetime around the city in between webbing up baddies here and there. My mind was mostly wondering when Hazel would text or call me. In between each period I checked my phone with hope only for it to fade. I just kept reminding myself that she's probably one of those girls that like to follow the rules of contact.

After school finally finished at 3, I headed out into the parking lot to my car. Well, it wasn't exactly my car because I don't pay for it (couldn't afford it if I wanted to). When Augustus lost his leg and healed from surgery and his cancer, he gave it to me, free of charge. He gave it to me because (1) He lost his right leg, so he would be unable to drive properly with his prosthetic leg and (2) he wanted to thank me for being by his side when no one else was, especially when his parents were busy with work. His father, Norman Waters, was more than happy to lend me the car, being that I was the greatest son he never had and all that.

I started to back out when suddenly a car rushed past me and I had to slam the brakes. It looked like Kaitlyn, the only girl in this school with a British accent and Flash Thompson's Girl of the Week. It seemed only fitting that she would be speeding, in my opinion.

I was halfway home when some police cars passed me going in the other direction. I felt the urge to park the car and get out to help, but I had a lot of homework to get out of the way so I decided to let the cops get it for once. Besides, it was only one car.

Or at least, it _was_ one car. Four more cars passed by and two S.W.A.T. trucks zoomed by as well. I found a grocery store a block further and parked my car. I went and ran around to the back, changed my clothes, webbed them to the wall, then swung out after the cops.

_Two big crimes in two days? I demand a bonus in my next superhero paycheck._

_Oh crap! That's right! I still need to get my check from the Bugle!_

Too many things juggled in my mind and I let the attention of a girl take up most of it. Nice going, genius.

I found the cars surrounding a subway entrance and some of the officers were escorting the civilians out. Without a moment's hesitation, I swung in.

* * *

Something big happened. Lights were knocked down, tiles cracked on the floors and the walls. I looked around and judged by the patterns the one person I really didn't feel like dealing with. And when I looked at the subway tunnel, I saw a mechanical arm disappear into it, confirming my suspicions.

I jumped onto the ceiling and crawled into the tunnel, concealing myself in the shadows.

The man that was in the subway used to be one of the greatest scientific minds, Dr. Otto Octavius. I looked up to him because he was such a cool guy and a pure genius. He built these four mechanized arms that attached to his body and nervous system with allowed him to conduct experiments no one else could. Then in an experiment gone awry, the arms were welded to his body and took a mind of its own and was able to manipulate Octavius's mind as well and then he donned the name Doctor Octopus. You could imagine my disappointment when I met him for the first time and found out my childhood hero was now a supervillain trying to end the lives of New York.

The further I got into the tunnel, the darker it became. I had to rely on my sixth sense (which I call spider sense) to keep track of where Doc Ock went. I wasn't sure when he broke out of Ravencroft Institute, but I had to make sure he didn't have some sort of lab down there.

And my hunch was right. We came across a lighted opening in the tunnels where what seemed to be a crude lab. Beakers, machines, computers, and other gizmos with _WatersCorp_ marked on the sides.

Doc Ock went up to one of the computers that had screen showing some kind of blueprint. "Yes…" he said quietly. "Almost done."

I positioned myself on the ceiling and slid upside-down on a web until I was behind him. From what I could tell, the blueprints showed some kind of orb that is supposed to be four inches in diameter. What it does? No idea.

_BLIP!_

His arms instantly reacted to the sound of my phone receiving a text. I flipped back just in time to dodge his arms and landed on one of his lab tables. He turned around and faced me.

"Spider-Man, why am I not surprised?"

"Because you fear me?" I replied.

"Funny. Spider-Man, I want you to leave."

That was new. Usually it was all "No, Spider-Man! Foiled again!" or something like that after a few of my quips and webs. "Um, no thanks." I said. "I'm just here to make sure you go back to your comfy cell back at Ravencroft and take your loony pills three times a day."

"Pah! That place's security is so low, I practically walked out of there!"

"Was that before or after you pummeled up every guard there unfairly with your extra arms?"

He turned around and typed on the computer. I sat at the table next to it. "Alright, Doc, I give. What's with this small orb you're making?"

"Oh, Spider-Man," he said cooly, "Do you really think I would tell you?"

"You do have a tendency say your entire plan to me so I could stop it. Kind of like Moriarty in _Sherlock_ or Mr. Yang in _Psych_."

"I've learned from my mistakes, Spider-Man."

I remembered that he also talked about his plans when he was mad. So, well, I decided to make him mad. He's pretty sharp with my jokes so I went with my webbing.

_THWIP_

I attached one of his mechanical arms to his computer and jumped out of the way as he swung it at me, smashing the computer with the other wall.

"NO!"

"Oh, c'mon Doc. Don't tell me you didn't have your entire plan on that computer, did you? I thought you were a genius!"

"You'll pay for this!"

"Do you prefer cash or credit?"

Another swing. Another dodge. Another miss and another smashed wall. "None of those? And me without my checkbook."

My spider sense went off and my right wrist was suddenly grabbed from behind by one of Ock's arms, and before I knew it all four of my limbs were grabbed by his arms and was soon lifted into the air, slowly being pulled apart.

"Now, Spider-Man, I feel that I should go ahead with my plan since I've got you tied up."

"Ooo, please do tell what this mysterious plan you have with a four-inch orb." I could feel the arms stop, pulling me at the tightest I can be without dislocating something.

He walked over to one of the tables that had a cake cover on it. He removed the cover, revealing a small metal orb. "This is no ball, boy. This is an electromagnetic neural bomb."

"Try saying that ten times fast." I quipped. The grip got tighter and I grunted a little. "Ow, pain. So, what is it supposed to do? Fry people's brains that are within a certain radius?"

"Yes, Spider-Man. I knew you would perceive the idea right away."

"Yeah, well, at least I'm not sick in the head like you to actually make it a thing."

He tsk-ed. "I'm going to make the world a better place, Spider-Man. I'm going to put these throughout WatersCorp and show them that I am the greatest scientific mind that ever lived!"

_WatersCorp. Of course._ I couldn't let that happen. I had to think fast. "Hey, Doc, you're right." I said. "You are the greatest scientific mind of all time. But do you want to know something you're not?"

"What?"

"Well, for one, you're not a chick-magnet. Two, you're also not a master planner."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, I've made it this far in foiling your plan. What's to stop me from getting further?" I yanked my right arm from the grasp of his mechanical one. I was slowly slipping from his grip and was now able to free myself. I pulled out my left hand and webbed the two of the arms shut.

Next were my legs, which were tricky. I first shot a web in the Doc's face, then his arms began to thrash around wildly, taking me with them. I ended up hitting the tables, the walls, and the floor at painful speeds. But, eventually, I was released from his grasps and thrown across the lab.

_It's okay. You're okay. You're whole body hurts, but you're fine._

Spider sense.

I jumped to my right and landed on the wall opposite from Octavius. He was still struggling to get the webbing off his face but his arms were on the move. I dodged one coming my way and webbed it against the walls. To my surprise, it attached to a support beam in the wall and stuck.

_Nice. Maybe I could find more of those around._

I jumped out of the way of another arm and webbed that to the wall. Unfortunately, no support beam was available to help me out, so the arm came back out and thrashed at me again. I dodged, but barely.

I had to rely on my spider sense to tell me where the support beams were. So, amidst jumping around, I was able to sense seven others and their locations. I landed on the closest one, waited for an arm to come at me, then jumped off and

_THWIP_

Bull's-eye.

I had two arms left to web up when Octavius finally managed to pull off the webbing on his face. "Spider-Man, I demand you stop this at―!"

_THWIP_

I webbed his face up, this time with more webbing. "Hold your horses, Doc. Just wait your turn."

After I finally managed to web up the final arm, I went back to each of them and applied more webbing to be safe, then knocked the doc square in the jaw to make sure he wouldn't wake for a while.

* * *

I walked out of the subway entranced and gave the professionals the directions to Octavius's location. I also told them he was building an electromagnetic bomb and that they should be careful in case it was near activation.

After they went in, I pulled out my phone to see who texted me.

"Son of a..."

My phone was smashed; screen, body, everything. It had to have been when I was being thrown around by my legs. I cursed myself but praised myself at the same time because it wasn't one of those expensive smartphones everyone but me has. Also, the SIM and Micro SD cards were still intact, so all I had to do was buy a new phone and I'd still get the text message and everything else.

So that was my plan: Stop by the Bugle, grab my paycheck, buy a new phone, go home, charge it, put everything together in the morning, and see who it was that nearly killed me.

* * *

Hi, Peter, it's Hazel. Want to meet up at the mall before 6?

I sat there at my desk on Friday morning staring at this message on my new phone wondering how Hazel would react if I told her that this text nearly costed my life (more than the standard text rate). Alas, I couldn't. I have a secret identity to maintain, people to protect from the other life I live.

But enough about Spider-Man, this is Peter Parker here. The guy that kind of blew it with the most beautiful girl I know. And as I sat there contemplating how to reply back, I received a text from Gus.

Hey, meet me at my penthouse ASAP?

Me: What's up?

Gus: It's Isaac. He kind of needs us. Get here ASAP and all will be explained.

Me: Can I bring a friend? Specifically Hazel?

I felt this was a rather rude question right after it was sent and done, but I hoped for the best.

Gus: The more the merrier!

Me: We'll be there in an hour, tops.

Now I knew what to say to Hazel.

Hi, Hazel. Two things: 1. I'm super mega ultra sorry I didn't respond to your text sooner! I had some technical/physical difficulties with my phone, but all is good now! 2. Can I make up for it? Gus texted me saying that something was up with Isaac from support group and to meet him at his penthouse. You're welcome to come if you want. Once again, I am SUPER sorry!

The pain of waiting for a reply to a message like that is unbearable for two reasons: (1) I hope she reads it and believes me and (2) I hoped she wasn't one of those people that texted back "k" after a message like that.

Thankfully, she wasn't.

Okay, Peter, I forgive you. And yes, I will join you and Gus to help support Isaac.

Me: Awesome! I'll pick you up? (Sorry again for yesterday)

Hazel: Sounds good! And it's okay, Peter.

Me: I feel really bad about it. I'm really sorry.

Hazel: Peter, it's okay. Really. Things happen.

Me: Alright. Text me your address and I'll be on my way.

She did, and I followed through with what I said.


	5. Chapter 5

5

Augustus

That Friday morning started out like they usually do: I wake up at seven, eat a breakfast with my parents, they leave right after breakfast and I mosey along to get my teeth brushed and body showered, I work on some of my lessons which I get done within two hours (perks of being homeschooled), and sat down to play some video games around eleven (specifically Counterinsurgence 2: The Price of Dawn).

However, at 11:15-ish, I got a call from Isaac.

"Hey, Isaac. What's up?"

"Gus?" He responded. His voice was shaky and and he sniffled.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" I instinctively paused the game and stood up.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, Gus. Um, I'm actually outside your building. Think you can buzz me in?"

"Yeah, no problem." I did. "Alright, come on in. Are you alright?"

"No, not really."

"What happened?"

"It's Monica."

"Oh no."

"Yeah."

I knew it was coming. I had a sixth sense about these kind of things. "Well, come on up. We'll play some video games, order pizza for lunch, and just talk about it, alright?"

"Alright."

"Hey, maybe Peter could help us out on this too. He's a fun guy."

"Man, it'd be great if Peter would come. But he's so busy."

"True, but maybe I could talk him into it."

"Well, I'm in the elevator now. See you in a bit."

"See ya."

I hung up and sent a text to Peter.

Hey, meet me at my penthouse ASAP?

Peter: What's up?

Me: It's Isaac. He kind of needs us. Get here ASAP and all will be explained.

Peter: Can I bring a friend? Specifically Hazel?

_Oh, Peter, you sly dog._

The elevator to the main room of the penthouse opened up and Isaac walked through. His real eye was red and tears were streaming from it. Honestly, his face looked like a wreck. I went up to him and embraced him in my arms, then held him back.

"Isaac, it's going to be okay."

He sniffed and pushed up his glasses. "I know."

I gave him a reassuring smile. "So, Peter can totally make it. In fact, he asked if it was okay if he brought Hazel from support group with."

"What'd you say?"

"Well, I wanted to see how you felt about that, considering she's a girl and all."

He was silent for a moment, then said, "No, it's fine. I actually wouldn't mind the feminine support."

"Awesome." I pulled out my phone and replied to Peter:

The more the merrier!

Then got a text back shortly afterwards.

We'll be there in an hour, tops.

"Alright, Pete says they'll be here in about an hour. What do you want to do?"

He looked over at the 56" TV with the paused game. "How about just play some video games?"

I patted him on the back. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

Exactly an hour later, I got a text from Peter saying that he was outside with Hazel, so I buzzed them in. Isaac and I were still playing Counterinsurgence 2 when they came in through the elevators. At this point, Isaac's sad silence had turned into occasional howling as we played.

When the elevator doors opened, I got up from the couch and walked up to Peter and Hazel. "Hey, Peter, glad you could make it. Hazel, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Hey Gus." Said Peter. Hazel just nodded her head.

"Alright." I said and turned towards Isaac. "Isaac, Peter and Hazel are here!" I turned back to the perfect couple. "Gentle reminder: Isaac is in the midst of a psychotic episode." At that moment, as if on cue, Isaac let out a wail.

I led them to the couch and chairs that surrounded the television and offered them space. They decided to sit next to each other in the loveseat next to the couch where Isaac and I sat and continued to play video games. In my head, I envisioned them as a great couple. Seeing them together was damn near perfect.

"How are you guys?" I asked once we were all settled.

"Fine." Answered Peter.

I looked at Hazel, hoping for something a bit juicier. "Fine? Just fine?"

Hazel squirmed a bit. "Yeah, fine. Okay. However it translates to you." She turned towards Isaac. "How are you?"

Isaac was as unresponsive to other people's speech as he was for the last fifteen minutes. I decided to break the awkward silence.

"You look nice." I said to Hazel. She did. She was wearing a dress that went just past the knees and it complimented her nicely. "I mean, most girls think they're only allowed to wear dresses on formal occasions, but I like the ones who thinks _I'm going to see a boy who is having a nervous breakdown, a boy whose connection to the sense of sight itself is tenuous, and gosh dang it, I am going to wear a dress for him_."

She laughed at that and Peter said, "And yet, Isaac won't so much as glance over at her. I guess he's just too in love with Monica."

Insert a catastrophic sob courtesy of Isaac here. "Bit of a touchy subject." I explained. "Isaac and Monica are no longer a going concern, but he doesn't want to talk about it. He just wants to cry and play Counterinsurgence 2: The Price of Dawn."

"Excellent choice." Said Peter as he nodded his head. "The game, I mean."

I looked back at the screen. "I don't know about you, Isaac, but I have the vague sense that we are being outflanked. If you agree, head over to that power station and I'll cover you." He did just that and I covered him by firing wildly in quick bursts as I followed him

"Anyways," I said, turning my attention to Hazel and Peter, "it doesn't hurt to _talk_ to him. If you guys have anything uplifting to say, feel free to say it, feminine or not."

"I actually think his response is probably appropriate." Said Hazel.

Peter nodded. "I mean, being passive-aggressive in a videogame is probably the best thing to do."

A burst of gunfire from Isaac killed an enemy who had only just peeked his head around the corner. Good ol' attentive Isaac. He heard everything we were saying.

"You're sure there's no one behind us?" I asked Isaac. Then, moments later, bullets were whizzing over our heads. "Oh, goddamn it, Isaac. I don't mean to criticize you in your moment of weakness, but you've allowed us to be outflanked and now there's nothing between the terrorists and the school."

Isaac had his character run towards the incoming fire, zig-zagging down a narrow alleyway.

"You could go over the bridge and circle back." Suggested Peter.

"Yeah, well, the bridge is already under insurgent control due to questionable strategizing by my bereft cohort."

"Me?" Said Isaac suddenly, his voice breathy. "Me?! You're the one who suggested we hole up in the freaking power station!"

I flashed him a smile. "I knew you could talk, buddy. Now let's go save some fictional schoolchildren."

We ran down the alleyway together, firing and ducking at just the right moments, until we reached the school. Isaac and I had our characters crouch behind a wall across the street and shot the enemies down one by one.

"Do they want to get into the school?" Asked Hazel.

"They want the kids as hostages." Said Peter before I could respond. It was probably for the best because this game was particularly hard.

The waves of terrorists were raining on us, but Isaac and I were able to hold our ground, shooting each enemy down with precision and bloody grace. Just then, I noticed an enemy grenade land in the doorway of the school. "Grenade! Grenade!"

Isaac dropped his controller in disappointment. "If the bastards can't take hostages, they just kill them and claim we did it."

"Cover me!" I told Isaac. I had my character jump out from behind the wall we were hiding behind, held down the left stick, and sprinted toward the school. Isaac fumbled for his controller, got a grip, then fired at the approaching enemies. I got shot once, but I still trudged on. I got shot a second time but was still in the game. "YOU CAN'T KILL AUGUSTUS WATERS!" I shouted. I jumped onto the grenade just as it exploded, my body exploding like a geyser of blood and guts as the screen went red.

"MISSION FAILURE," said the game's announcer.

"Saved the kids." I said as I pulled out a cigarette and put it in my mouth.

"Really, Gus? The cigarette?" Said Peter.

I shrugged. "Hey, what can I say? It's my motto."

Hazel looked back and forth between us. "What are you guys talking about?"

Peter sighed. "It's a metaphor he's obsessed with. It's his thing like how Pudge is obsessed with last words in _Looking for Alaska._"

"Oh," she said. "What's the metaphor? I mean, no offense, but I can attest to say that having lung cancer sucks."

Peter nodded towards me. My time to shine. "You see, Hazel, I never light one. The metaphor is that you put the killing thing right between your teeth, but you never give it the power to do its killing."

She nodded, seeming slightly impressed. "Interesting."

I smiled. "Oh, yes. I'm a believer of metaphors."

"And yet," inserted Peter, "He refuses to watch _Doctor Who_ or read _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_."

It was at that point that Isaac's wailing started up again. I turned to him and asked, "Another go at the mission, Corporal?"

He shook his head no. He turned to where Hazel and Peter were sitting and said in a tightly strung voice, "She didn't want to do it after."

They looked a bit confused and I continued for Isaac. "She didn't want to dump him after the surgery when he was completely blind."

"She said she couldn't handle it." Said Isaac. "I'm about to lose my eyesight and _she_ can't handle it."

"I'm sorry, Isaac." Said Peter as he leaned in.

"Me too." Said Hazel.

Isaac wiped his face with his sleeve. When you looked directly at his face, it was just disembodied eyes staring at you, one real and one fake. "It's unacceptable," he said to them, "It's totally unacceptable."

"Well, to be fair," said Hazel, "I mean, she probably _can't_ handle it. Neither can you, but she doesn't _have_ to handle it. And you do."

"I kept saying 'always' to her today." Said Isaac, his tears urging to come back out with a vengeance. "'Always always always', and she just kept talking over me and not saying it back. It was like a promise! How can you break a promise?"

"Sometimes people don't understand the promises they're making when they make them." Said Hazel.

_Like Peter._ I thought. Don't get me wrong, Peter is a great guy. Perhaps one of the greatest that ever lived. A true role model. But he has problems with keeping promises. He knows he has to follow them when he makes them, but he often times doesn't follow through. But, unlike Monica, he does when it matters. Like when I was released from the hospital and my parents were busy in board meetings they could no longer postpone, Peter was there to drive me home and keep me company until my parents came back.

Isaac took a deep breath. "Right, of course. But you keep the promise anyway. That's what love _is_. Love is keeping the promise anyway. Don't you believe in true love, Hazel?"

She didn't say anything. Peter didn't say anything. I couldn't think of any response either.

"Well, I believe in true love," continued Isaac. "And I love her. And she promised. She _promised me always_." Then he stood up and took a step towards Hazel. It was clear she and I both thought he was going for a hug or something because she was about to get up, but then Isaac stopped and looked around as if he forgot the whole decision of standing. Then, in a flash, rage settled into his face.

"Isaac?" I said.

"What?"

"You look a little… pardon the double entendre, but there's something a little worrisome in your eyes."

"And?"

I stood up. "You need to hit something." I took a thick pillow off the couch and placed it on my chest. "Here, hit this."

He looked at my eyes, then back at the pillow. He was probably considering whether or not it would hurt me. "Don't worry, Isaac, it's pretty thick. It's actually lined with bamboo and and filled wi―_OOF!_"

Isaac hit me, and hard, right in the center of the pillow. He had a lot of strength for a little guy and I fell over backwards a few yards away. Peter and Hazel rushed to my side and helped me up. "Okay," I breathed, "Bad idea." I stopped and thought about something Isaac could break that wasn't expensive or meaningful. "Alright, I've got an idea. Follow me."

I led them to my bedroom and pointed to the shelf of basketball trophies. "I've been looking for a way to tell my father that I actually sort of hate basketball, and I think we've found it."

Isaac went up to the shelf, grabbed one of the five down, and looked at it. He then looked back at me, to be sure, and I nodded my head. That was all he needed. He threw it to the ground, shiny, gold-colored plastic arm splintered from shiny, gold-colored plastic body. "Yes, Isaac! Get it!"

He grabbed two this time and threw them down simultaneously then started stomping on them. He grabbed the last two, threw them just like the previous ones, and as he stomped on all five shattered trophies he let out a large, final wail of rage. Then he sat down on them, head in hands.

I walked up to him, knelt down, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Feel better?"

"No." He mumbled, chest heaving.

"Well," I said, "Just remember that there are plenty of fish in the sea and all those other metaphors that don't help with the pain, because that's the thing about pain: It demands to be felt."

Isaac wept and I looked up at Peter and Hazel who were still in the doorway, looking horrified. "I guess you guys can go, if you want."

"Gus," said Hazel, "You don't strike me as the type to read _An Imperial Affliction_."

I smiled. She noticed that I used a quote from my favorite book, "pain demands to be felt". "I surprise a lot of people, Hazel." I said as I stood up. "I don't think anyone's exempt from that."


	6. Chapter 6

6

Hazel

As my mother unhooked me from Philip on Friday morning, I checked my phone one last time in hopes of seeing something from Peter. Unfortunately, Peter either forgot to text back or he forgot me entirely.

My dad was reading the morning edition of the Daily Bugle when I walked in the kitchen for breakfast and I clearly saw a photo of Spider-Man walking out of a house with the headline saying loud and proud _Spider-Man Strikes Again!_

As far as I am concerned, I have positive feelings towards Spider-Man. Even though the press practically hates his guts, I think that he does what he thinks is right. Sure, you could count me as one of the many girls who want to know the secret man behind the mask and if he is as attractive as his butt looks, but I'm not crazy about him or anything.

"Good morning." I said to my dad as I sat down.

"Good morning, my lovely lady."

I looked at the bottom-right corner of the photo and read _PHOTO BY: PETER PARKER._

_Imagine if Peter was Spider-Man._ I mused inwardly as I ate my breakfast of oatmeal. _Taking pictures of himself in a mask. Or of Gus or Isaac or even Patrick._ I doubted Patrick had the balls to be Spider-Man.

I was nearing the bottom of my bowl when my phone blipped, indicating that I finally had a text from Peter.

Hi, Hazel. Two things: 1. I'm super mega ultra sorry I didn't respond to your text sooner! I had some technical/physical difficulties with my phone, but all is good now! 2. Can I make up for it? Gus texted me saying that something was up with Isaac from support group and to meet him at his penthouse. You're welcome to come if you want. Once again, I am SUPER sorry!

I likely excuse, but I decided to play along.

Okay, Peter, I forgive you. And yes, I will join you and Gus to help support Isaac.

Peter: Awesome! I'll pick you up? (Sorry again for yesterday)

Me: Sounds good! And it's okay, Peter.

Peter: I feel really bad about it. I'm really sorry.

I took it at this point that he must've really meant it.

Me: Peter, it's okay. Really. Things happen.

Peter: Alright. Text me your address and I'll be on my way.

I sent him my address. Just then, my mom walked in the kitchen. "Hey, Mom, you remember Peter from support group on Wednesday?"

"Yes?"

"Well, he's coming to pick me up to go see Gus and Isaac, two other guys from support group."

My dad put down his newspaper. "Oh, is he now?"

I smiled. "With your consent, of course, Dad."

He smiled back. "At least we're on the same page, Hazel."

I looked at Mom, her face beaming as she patted me on the shoulder.

* * *

Peter pulled up in a shiny blue Camry not twenty minutes from when I texted him my address. I went up to the door, butterflies in my stomach, dressed and ready to go, and reached it just as the bell rang. I opened it to find Peter in my doorway wearing a gray dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves, dark jeans, and Converse.

"Hey." He said.

"Hi."

It was obvious now. I liked him. So much to the point that for a moment I forgot I was supposed to move out of the way to invite him in.

"Oh, um, come inside. My dad wants to meet you."

He put on a nervous smile. "The ultimate test of worth, eh?"

"Basically."

I closed the door behind him and let him take a seat on the couch. My dad walked in the room. He said nothing, just looked Peter up and down as he sat there and awkwardly looked back.

Finally, my dad asked, "Favorite book?"

"Novel?" Peter responded.

"Sure."

"_Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ by Douglas Adams."

"Favorite movie?"

"Depends on the genre, but anything Christopher Nolan works."

"Favorite show?"

"_Doctor Who._"

My dad turned to me. "Hazel, he is perfect."

I heard Peter let out a silent sigh of relief and I couldn't help but smile. _Peter Parker: Proof that nerds can be attractive._ "Thanks, Dad." I said as I went up and hugged him. "Can we go now?"

"Just be safe."

"We will." Said Peter, getting up.

"Don't do anything stupid."

"We won't." I said.

"And if you do, use prote―"

"DAD!"

I felt my face go red and when I looked at Peter is face looked a darker shade than what mine felt. And, with that, we went to Peter's car. He opened the door to the passenger's seat for me, helped me bring my oxygen tank in, then he got in on his side and we were off.

* * *

It was quiet for a while in the car. Peter drove on and I sat silently in the passenger's seat, unable to think of a good conversation starter.

"So…" he said after a while, "Hazel Lancaster?"

I nodded. "Hazel Grace Lancaster." _Wait, why did I say my full name?_

He smiled and nodded. "Hazel Grace Lancaster. Has a nice ring to it."

"Yeah, it kind of does."

"Hazel Grace…"

"Okay, Peter, don't call me that."

He glanced at me. "Hazel Grace."

"Peter, stop. Now."

"Hazel Grace."

"Peter…"

"Alright, alright." He relaxed back into his seat. "Your turn."

"For what?"

"For a question. Ask me anything."

"How is it my turn? You didn't ask me anything."

"No, I asked 'So… Hazel Lancaster?', and then you confirmed it was your name in a bit more detail than I expected."

"That's cheating."

"It was a legit question. Now ask me one."

I looked out the windshield and thought. I had it when we passed by a 7-11 gas station. "Favorite Slurpee flavor?"

"Hawaiian Punch."

I was shocked. "That's an actual flavor?"

"Yup."

"Wow." I used to drink Hawaiian Punch a lot when I was a kid. The fact that it's now a legit Slurpee flavor is, like, a gift from God. "Alright, Peter, your turn. And nothing obvious."

"Alright." I waited for about fifteen seconds until he finally asked me "Favorite popular author?"

"John Green."

"I like him too. Aren't his books basically the same formula, though? Don't get me wrong, I love _Looking for Alaska_, and I'm excited for his next book, _The Fault in our_ something, but it's all the same story playing dress-up."

"That's kind of what makes it his own thing."

"I guess."

The car ride proceeded with more questions and answers. Mac or PC? Me: PC, Peter: Mac. Typing or writing? Both: Typing. Job? Peter: Freelance photographer, Me: At-home cancer survivor. Is the cancer in your lungs? Yes, Peter. What gave it away, the oxygen tank?

"How long have you had it?"

I sighed. "Ever since I was twelve."

"What medication are you on?"

"Phalanxifor." I answered. "It attaches itself to cancer cells and slows down the growth."

"Wow." He pulled into a parking garage, found a spot, and parked the car. "So, do you know how much time you have left? I mean, I'm sorry, that was rude."

"No, no it's fine." I'm just a person dying with cancer. Since we're all slowly dying, can I ask you the same question? "I've got a little over a year as of right now, but it's just an estimate. It's terminal, though, so it's definitely going to kill me at some point." I felt a little relieved saying that, like I had this little ball of stress that was just let free by saying that.

"Man, I don't know what to say."

"Well, for starters, you don't say that."

He laughed a bit. "I guess that's true. Alright, take-back, what I meant to say was 'that's just awful'."

I smiled. "That's better. Ish."

We got out of the car and walked to the expensive-looking apartment complex on the other side of the street. As we approached the entrance, I looked up from the ground. It was a brick building with some overgrowth that seemed to be their respectively for the look of the building and, to be honest, it suited quite well.

When we approached the door, Peter pulled out his phone and said "I have to text Gus so he can buzz us in." In which he then proceeded to do so.

A few seconds later, the lock on the door clicked and we were in. The lobby to the complex was colored marble and was certainly a pleasantry to see.

"So," I said. "Gus actually lives here?"

Peter chuckled. "Yeah. He actually lives in the penthouse."

"No way."

"Yes way. I mean, his parents own WatersCorp and all."

"True." WaterCorp was definitely a success. In fact, my family uses their line of smart phones. I tried to remember what Peter's looked like, but I assumed since he was Gus's best friend that he would have some kind of WatersPhone.

We went up to the elevator and Peter pushed the button to call it. "Okay, Hazel Grace,"

"Peter."

"Sorry. _Hazel_. Anyways, my guess is that Isaac and Monica broke up. Well, to be more accurate, Monica dumped Isaac. Everyone saw it coming a mile away. Anyways, he gets pretty emotional about these kind of things."

"Like, beating a pillow emotional?"

"Something like that."

The elevator doors opened and we went in.

* * *

When the elevator doors opened, we were quickly greeted by an Augustus dressed in a white T-shirt and Spider-Man pajama pants. Isaac was sitting on a couch in front of a large TV playing video games.

"Hey, Peter," said Gus. "Glad you could make it. Hazel, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Hey Gus." Said Peter. I just nodded my head.

"Alright." Said Gus as he turned towards Isaac. "Isaac, Peter and Hazel are here!" He turned back to us. "Gentle reminder: Isaac is in the midst of a psychotic episode." As if on cue, Isaac let out a loud wail.

Gus led us to the couch and chairs that surrounded surrounded the television and offered us the seats. Peter and I decided to sit next to each other in the loveseat next to the couch where Isaac and Gus sat and continued to play video games.

"How are you guys?" Asked Gus once we were all settled.

"Fine." Answered Peter.

Gus looked at Hazel, perhaps hoping for a bit more. "Fine? Just fine?"

I squirmed a bit to get more comfortable. "Yeah, fine. Okay. However it translates to you." I turned towards Isaac. "How are you?"

Isaac was unresponsive. An awkward silence was looming over us, but thankfully Gus decided to break it.

"You look nice." He said to Me. I'm not sure if I would've agreed. I was wearing a dress that went just past the knees. I actually had some better dresses in my closet. "I mean," he continued, "most girls think they're only allowed to wear dresses on formal occasions, but I like the ones who thinks _I'm going to see a boy who is having a nervous breakdown, a boy whose connection to the sense of sight itself is tenuous, and gosh dang it, I am going to wear a dress for him_."

I laughed at that, the way Gus delivered the line was hilarious, and Peter said, "And yet, Isaac won't so much as glance over at her. I guess he's just too in love with Monica."

Isaac then let out a sob.

"Bit of a touchy subject." Gus explained "Isaac and Monica are no longer a going concern, but he doesn't want to talk about it. He just wants to cry and play Counterinsurgence 2: The Price of Dawn."

"Excellent choice." Said Peter as he nodded his head. "The game, I mean."

Gus looked back at the screen. "I don't know about you, Isaac, but I have the vague sense that we are being outflanked. If you agree, head over to that power station and I'll cover you." He did just that and Gus covered him by firing wildly in quick bursts as he followed Isaac.

"Anyways," Gus said, turning my attention to me and Peter, "it doesn't hurt to _talk_ to him. If you guys have anything uplifting to say, feel free to say it, feminine or not."

"I actually think his response is probably appropriate." I said.

Peter nodded. "I mean, being passive-aggressive in a videogame is probably the best thing to do."

A burst of gunfire came from TV as Isaac's character killed an enemy who had only just peeked his head around the corner.

"You're sure there's no one behind us?" Gus asked Isaac. Then, moments later, bullets come from a distance and flew past them. "Oh, goddamn it, Isaac. I don't mean to criticize you in your moment of weakness, but you've allowed us to be outflanked and now there's nothing between the terrorists and the school."

Isaac had his character run towards the incoming fire, zig-zagging down a narrow alleyway.

"You could go over the bridge and circle back." Suggested Peter.

"Yeah," said Gus, "well, the bridge is already under insurgent control due to questionable strategizing by my bereft cohort."

"Me?" Said Isaac suddenly, his voice breathy. "Me?! You're the one who suggested we hole up in the freaking power station."

Augustus flashed a goofy grin at Isaac. "I knew you could talk, buddy. Now let's go save some fictional schoolchildren."

Gus and Isaac virtually ran down the alleyway together, firing and ducking at just the right moments, until they reached a school. They had their characters crouch behind a wall across the street shot the enemies down one by one.

"Do they want to get into the school?" I asked.

"They want the kids as hostages." Said Peter.

The waves of terrorists were raining on them, but Isaac and Gus were able to hold their ground, shooting each enemy down with precision. Just then, something small came into view and Gus yelled, "Grenade! Grenade!"

Isaac dropped his controller in disappointment. "If the bastards can't take hostages, they just kill them and claim we did it."

"Cover me!" Gus told Isaac. He had his character jump out from behind the wall they were hiding behind and sprinted toward the school. Isaac fumbled for his controller, got a grip, then fired at approaching enemies. Gus got shot once, but he still trudged on. He got shot a second time but was still in the game. "YOU CAN'T KILL AUGUSTUS WATERS!" He shouted. He jumped onto the grenade just as it exploded and the screen went red.

"MISSION FAILURE," said the game's announcer.

"Saved the kids." Gus said as he pulled out a cigarette and put it in his mouth.

"Really, Gus? The cigarette?" Said Peter.

He shrugged. "Hey, what can I say? It's my motto."

I looked back and forth between them. "What are you guys talking about?"

Peter sighed. "It's a metaphor he's obsessed with. It's his thing like how Pudge is obsessed with last words in _Looking for Alaska._"

"Oh," I said. _That's an interesting obsession._ "What's the metaphor? I mean, no offense, but I can attest to say that having lung cancer sucks."

Peter nodded towards Augustus. Gus puffed out his chest, clearly taking in his shining moment. "You see, Hazel," he began, "I never light one. You put the killing thing right between your teeth, but you never give it the power to do its killing."

I nodded. "Interesting."

He smiled. "Oh, yes. I'm a believer of metaphors."

"And yet," inserted Peter, "He refuses to watch _Doctor Who_ or read _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_."

It was at that point that Isaac's wailing started up again. Gus turned to him and asked, "Another go at the mission, Corporal?"

He shook his head no. He turned to where Peter and I were sitting and said in a tightly strung voice, "She didn't want to do it after."

I was a bit confused and must've looked like it too because Gus continued for Isaac. "She didn't want to dump him after the surgery when he was completely blind."

"She said she couldn't handle it." Said Isaac. "I'm about to lose my eyesight and _she_ can't handle it."

"I'm sorry, Isaac." Said Peter as he leaned in.

"Me too." I said.

Isaac wiped his face with his sleeve. When you looked directly at his face, it was just disembodied eyes staring at you, one real and one fake. "It's unacceptable," he said to me and Peter, "It's totally unacceptable."

"Well, to be fair," I said, "I mean, she probably _can't_ handle it. Neither can you, but she doesn't _have_ to handle it. And you do."

"I kept saying 'always' to her today." Said Isaac, his tears urging to come back out harder than before. "'Always always always', and she just kept talking over me and not saying it back. It was like a promise! How can you break a promise?"

"Sometimes people don't understand the promises they're making when they make them." I said.

Isaac took a deep breath. "Right, of course. But you keep the promise anyway. That's what love _is_. Love is keeping the promise anyway. Don't you believe in true love, Hazel?"

I didn't say anything. Peter didn't say anything. Gus didn't say anything either. It was clear that we all thought that if true love could ever be explained, it was exactly like that: Keeping the promise anyway.

"Well, I believe in true love," continued Isaac. "And I love her. And she promised. She _promised me always_." Then he stood up and took a step towards me. I thought he was coming in for a hug, so I decided to stand up, then he stopped and looked as if he forgot why he got up in the first place. Then suddenly, his face began to twist.

"Isaac?" Gus said.

"What?"

"You look a little… pardon the double entendre, but there's something a little worrisome in your eyes."

"And?"

Gus stood up. "You need to hit something." he took a thick pillow off the couch and placed it on his chest. "Here, hit this."

Isaac looked at him eyes, then back at the pillow, as if he wasn't sure if he was actually allowed to do it. To which Gus replied, "Don't worry, Isaac, it's pretty thick. It's actually lined with bamboo and and filled wi―_OOF!_"

Isaac hit him, hard, right in the center of the pillow. Isaac was stronger than he looked because Gus I fell over backwards a few yards away. Peter and I rushed to his side and helped him up. "Okay," he breathed, "Bad idea." he stopped and thought about something. "Alright, I've got an idea. Follow me."

He led us to his bedroom and pointed to the shelf of basketball trophies. "I've been looking for a way to tell my father that I actually sort of hate basketball, and I think we've found it."

Isaac went up to the shelf, grabbed one of the five down, and looked at it. He then looked back at Gus, to be sure, and he nodded his head. That was all Isaac needed. He threw it to the ground, shiny, gold-colored plastic arm splintered from shiny, gold-colored body. "Yes, Isaac! Get it!"

He grabbed two this time and threw them down simultaneously then started stomping on them. He grabbed the last two, threw them just like the last two, and as he stomped on all five shattered trophies he let out a large, final wail of rage. Then he sat down on them, head in hands.

Gus walked up to him, knelt down, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Feel better?"

"No." Isaac mumbled, chest heaving.

"Well," said Gus, "Just remember that there are plenty of fish in the sea and all those other metaphors that don't help with the pain, because that's the thing about pain: It demands to be felt."

My thought process stopped. I'm not sure if Peter or Isaac realized it, but Augustus just quoted from my favorite book. "That's the thing about pain," it goes, "It demands to be felt.

Isaac continued to cry silently and Gus looked up at me and Peter, who were still in the doorway, probably looking horrified. "I guess you guys can go, if you want."

"Gus," I managed to say, "You don't strike me as the type to read _An Imperial Affliction_."

He smiled. "I surprise a lot of people, Hazel." He said as he stood up. "I don't think anyone's exempt from that."

Peter looked back and forth between the both of us. "What's this _Imperial Affliction_?"

"It's a book." Said Gus before I could answer. "You wouldn't like it, Pete. No aliens, no zombies, no vampires, no cat in hats, just old-fashioned storytelling about a girl with a fatal disease."

"And a hamster whom we have no idea where his fate lies." I added.

Gus brought his hands up to Peter's face and wiggled his fingers. "Ooooooooo. It's a mystery!"

Peter knocked Gus's hands out of the way and they both laughed. "Ever found any fanfiction?"

"Unfortunately," I replied, "The book isn't popular enough to where people with decent grammar or prose write an epilogue."

"Yeah, I hate it when that happens."

"Me too," said Gus. "Oh, wait, are we talking nerd stuff? If so, count me out."

Peter's face suddenly changed, as if a light bulb went off. "Hey, Gus, you're a good writer."

The smile dropped from his face. "Yeah?"

"How about you write an epilogue for Hazel."

"Why?"

"You'll be on my good side forever." I said. "Unless you kill the hamster."

Gus mockingly put a finger to his chin. "I'll think about it."

* * *

After we left Augustus's penthouse, Peter and I walked down to the corner to a diner. According to him, they had the best milkshakes in the city. He wasn't lying. The Oreo shake was the best Oreo shake I have ever had.

"So," I said to Peter as we sat in our booth, sipping away milkshakes, "Did Monica really like Isaac all this time?"

Peter took his straw out of his mouth. "Sort of. I mean, everyone at school saw the break up coming a mile away. She did like him, though, but in more of a caretaker way."

"I see."

My phone made a message alert and I pulled it out of my pocket. It was from my mom.

You need to come home now! The news says that Electro

That was all I was able to read when all the power in the diner went out. Seriously, _all_ the power. Even my phone went dead.

"Peter?" I looked up to face him across the booth, but he wasn't there. I glanced around and saw him dive into the men's restroom.

I got up and rolled my oxygen tank to the door with me and knocked on it. "Peter?"

No response.

"Peter!"

Total silence.

Instinctively, I ran inside only to find the restroom empty. Well, except for Peter's clothes folded into a neat pile with a pair of Spider-Man converse underneath the sink.

"What the…"


	7. Chapter 7

7

Peter

I felt bad for ditching Hazel at the diner, but I knew that if I didn't go Spider-Man and something happened to Hazel, I'd never be able to forgive myself.

So, when she wasn't looking, I made a dash to the men's room, stripped down to my red and blue tights, and left my civilian clothes under the sink. Mask in position and camera at my side, I climbed out the window which lead into an alleyway behind the diner.

I heard an explosion that was too close for comfort. I ran out of the alley and saw two blocks from the diner a floating figure in green and yellow tights with electricity surrounding him, lighting up the afternoon light as if he was a second sun.

This was Max Dillon. Formerly an electrician, he got struck by lightning when performing repairs to a telephone pole and he gained the ability to manipulate electricity and even take the form of it. I know, scientifically inaccurate, but so is your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man and his rotating cast of baddies.

I leapt, shot a web to a building on the right, and swung in his direction. I stopped at a lamp post to set my camera up and continued swinging in his direction. As I got closer, he turned around, clearly distracted by something else. He looked up and down the left side of the street then, with a bolt of lightning, He exploded every single parking meter. Even on the other side of the street, quarters were pelting me and even tearing at my costume.

"Ouch! Yo, Max, these spider suits don't repair themselves, you know."

He turned to face me, just the gap of a two-lane road separating us. "Spider-Man!"

"The one and only! Now look, I had to deal with Doc Ock yesterday, and, the day before that, a hostage situation with a dude with a shock fetish. How about you save your little shenanigans for, let's say, next Tuesday?"

"Little shenanigans? _Little_?!" He glowed brighter and rose higher.

"Um, yeah? I mean, stealing quarters from parking meters? I'd hate to see how you thought of picking them up off the ground and carrying them to whatever hideout you have and counting them for days."

He looked around him, his slow brain trying to process everything I said as he stared at the hundreds of quarters that littered the street. "You're right."

"I'm sorry?" I felt something in my gut that told me to be ready for everything. Funny how my gut feeling was triggered before my spider sense.

"I've been thinking too small."

"Uh oh."

"Time to think big!"

Before I could quip him about his lame choice of words, my spider sense went off and instinctively jumped to the left, towards the diner. Electro let out a surrounding burst of lightning. A car that was next to him in my direction went flying overhead. I shot a strand of webbing at it and pulled it down, making fall to the ground only a few yards from the diner.

_I've got to end this soon. Max may be dumb, but he's powerful._

I turned back to him, only to find him gone. People were coming out of the surrounding buildings, wondering if the fight was actually over.

Then my spider sense went crazy and I was hit on the left cheek by a shocking blow that knocked me back ten yards. We were getting closer to the diner.

I quickly got up and looked around. Nothing to be seen but the city of New York. No Electro.

Spider sense again and I got hit on the right this time. Just before I got hit though, I was able to see a flash of yellow light, meaning that Electro seemed to have taken his electrical form.

"Look!" I said to thin air. "If this is about getting back at me for making fun of your starfish mask, consider us even!"

As soon as my spider sense tingled, I rolled forward, the hair on my entire body standing on end. But he missed me and that was all that mattered. I ran to a fire hydrant in a street corner and turned my back to it, praying that my plan would work.

"Hey, Sparky, did I ever tell you that those tights really bring out your feminine side?"

Spider sense to max, I flipped back, placed my hands on the fire hydrant and, thanks to my super strength and adhesive hands, broke it right out of the ground, short-circuiting Electro with a geyser of water.

He fell down on the pavement, face-down, coughing out water by the gallon. Police sirens wailed around the corner as well as a containment unit. I webbed up Max, grabbed my camera from the lamp post, and swung back to the diner. Spider-Man's job was done, now Peter Parker needs to get his clothes back on and figure out an excuse for leaving Hazel alone in a traumatic experience.

Man, after saying that, I feel really bad now.

* * *

I was going to change my clothes, but when I went to look under the sink in the men's room, they were gone. Shirt, pants, and Converse with my masked face on them. I went back out the window into the alley and saw, on the sidewalk, the back of Hazel walking past, dragging her oxygen tank behind her.

I jumped onto the building across from me and crawled a few floors up, following Hazel. When I was able to get a clear sight of her, I solved the mystery of my clothes. She was carrying them in her arms, holding them securely in a way that not even I could sneak them from her.

So there I was, the amazing Spider-Man, following a teenage girl in public trying to get his clothes back. As Hazel found a bench to sit on and I decided to rough it out on the rooftop, I wondered if any other guy had this problem.

* * *

Ten minutes passed. I looked over the edge of the roof, seeing Hazel still sitting on the bench with my clothes in her lap. Sitting there, she looked beautiful. I loved her. No denying it now, I guess. I freaking love her. And I couldn't just go up to her and ask her to take those clothes. Heck, she might've put two and two together already and suspected me of being Spider-Man.

I sat there, conversing with my inner thoughts of the outcomes if I were to tell her my secret. My secret that no one knows, not even my aunt May which whom I currently live with. It would be great. Hazel would understand my reasons of absence. We'd become closer than imaginable.

But if someone knew that Hazel knew my secret, they'd kidnap her and use her against me. If something happened to her where she got hurt, or even killed, and it was my fault, I would never be able to live with myself. Uncle Ben was bad enough. I had to be responsible.

But, god, I loved her. I could let her know. I should let her know. I…

I climbed down the side of the building. Hazel watched a car pass by and I, on the side she wasn't looking, shot a web at my clothes, brought them to me and was out of sight before Hazel knew what happened.

How was I going to talk myself out of this one?


End file.
